Icarus Down
by thegoodsamaritan
Summary: In the year 2148, a very different group of humans found the beacon on Mars. Now, almost 50 years later, the Icarus Foundation and the Citadel, in an effort to prevent war, call for an alliance- the Daedalus Unit. Their first mission: investigate a disturbance on the Foundation colony of Eden Prime... AU, dark themes, questionable morality on all fronts.
1. Prologue: Decisions Made

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This has been a long time coming. I've been working out the kinks and such for too long, and it's time to just get on with it. This is a crossover of Mass Effect and Deus Ex: Human Revolution, with my rather controversial decision to exclude the other two games in the series from the fic's canon. Sorry, everyone, but this is the only way I can make this story work. Them's the breaks.

Read, review if you like, or even if you don't. Thanks much for reading my crap!

* * *

"This senate meeting will now come to order."

The senator's gravelly voice echoed throughout the chamber, over the collected heads of the Foundation Senate that had come to hear of news regarding the Daedalus Initiative. Udina turned as the Chancellery Board entered the room, taking their seats at the raised dais at the head of the large room, giving a nod to the senator to continue. With a nod, he did so.

"Chancellors Anderson, Zorah, and Urdnot will be presiding over this meeting. I, Senator Udina, will be conducting. By your leave, Chancellors, our first speaker today shall be Spectre Nihlus Kryik. He has news pertaining to the Council's decision on the Daedalus Initiative."

The human on the dais, Anderson, nodded. "Proceed."

Many heads turned as the doors at the front of the hall opened, admitting a tall avian figure. His face was dark, with white and red markings adorning his face, a suit of black and red ballistic armor, and a very obvious pistol strapped to either hip. Few begrudged him that- most of the assembled senators had one or more weapons on their person. Chancellor Urdnot was a prime example, the grip of a shotgun peeking over his right shoulder.

Nihlus tried to ignore the stares he received as he ascended to the fore of the hall, to the platform just in front of the dais where the Chancellors sat. He stood stock still, until the Chancellors nodded- all the "by-your-leave" he was going to get from these Foundation types.

"Chancellors. Thank you for agreeing to call this meeting on such short notice."

"You said whatever news you had was urgent," said Urdnot, crossing his arms in a gesture that reeked of "not impressed."

"We would not have done so, otherwise," stated Rael'Zorah, the Board's quarian representative. "We hope it will prove worth our time."

"If we are finished antagonizing a guest of the senate," cut in Anderson, "perhaps we can get to the point." He turned to the turian on the stand before them. "I admit; I am curious as to what news you bring from your Council."

Nihlus nodded, straightening up a touch more, and looking each Chancellor in the eye in turn. Finally, with little preamble, he spoke.

"The Council was unanimous: the answer is yes. We accept the terms of the Daedalus Initiative, effective immediately."

There was a split-second of silence, before the hall erupted with murmurs of surprise and shock. True, the Initiative had been planned and set forth in this very room, with the intent of convincing the Council to open up diplomatic relations with the Foundation. But there were very few who believed their work would pay off. Even the Chancellors looked mildly shocked as the turian bore his news. It was Chancellor Zorah who recovered first.

"That is rather worth our time. Has the Council appointed a commanding officer yet?"

"It was decided that I should be charged with command of the unit, Chancellors."

"Indeed," said Urdnot, arms visibly uncrossed now. "This is good news. Tell your Council that we will be assembling our team shortly—"

"If I may, sirs," said the Spectre, holding up a hand apologetically, though his tone was firm enough; this was something he wished to get across. Urdnot raised an eyebrow, but gave the Spectre the go-ahead.

"Before you begin your decision-making, I would like to submit a request for my first officer."

Anderson nodded. "Very well, who was it you wanted to request?"

"Lt. Commander Isaac Shepard."

There was silence at this announcement. No hushed whispers, no fervent murmurs- just silence. Stunned, shocked silence. The Chancellors exchanged glances, then turned back to the Spectre on the stand.

"Spectre Nihlus," said Zorah. "I assume you have read the Commander's file? To ensure you have made an informed decision, of course."

"Exemplary service record, highly decorated, former Dragoon squad commander, promoted to Zephyr-class officer after his actions at Elysium. I am well-aware of my selection."

"Then you are also aware," said Anderson, "that his service record notwithstanding, Shepard has been one of the most outspoken opponents of the Initiative's passing?"

Nihlus' mandibles twitched in what could have been either irritation or amusement. "It did come up."

"And this is the guy you want standing next to you in battle? In the very unit he spoke against?" Urdnot sounded more impressed than nervous or concerned. This could be amusing, after all.

There was a long pause, then the Spectre nodded.

"With all due respect, Chancellors, I realize he may not be the most obvious choice. But I read his record thoroughly- at Mindoir, he was found searching for survivors among the wreckage, notwithstanding the trauma he himself had just experienced. He made it a priority to evacuate civilians from the areas targeted during the Skyllian Blitz before engaging the enemy, and then did so at great personal and mortal risk. In the Verge War he has been nothing but honorable.

"Yes, I know of his opinions regarding us. I know of his fears and doubts. But I can also read past that, to what his actions tell me. And what his actions tell me is that there is no one more suited to lead this mission."

There was another long silence as the turian finished his speech. Finally, Chancellor Urdnot nodded.

"Very well. I second the nomination of Lt. Commander Isaac Shepard to the position of executive officer of Daedalus Unit."

Now that did get a buzz going. The murmurs got loud enough that the Chancellors had to call for order. Finally, when all had quieted down, the Chancellors spoke.

"Fine, then," said Anderson. "All in favor of the appointment of Lt. Commander Shepard to the position of executive officer of Daedalus Unit, say 'aye.'"

The 'ayes' resounded through the hall.

"Any opposed?"

Another resounding declaration, though much smaller than the 'ayes.' The Board members nodded.

"Very well. The ayes have it. You have your first officer, Spectre Kryik."

If Nihlus could have grinned, he might have done so now. "Thank you, esteemed Chancellors."

A nod of acknowledgement, before the Chancellors stood.

"This meeting of the senate is now adjourned."


	2. Chapter 1: Bitter Work

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Um, wow. Wasn't expecting this kind of turnout, honestly. I mean, yeah, I hoped for it, but I didn't expect it.

My thanks to **Sir Apple **and **Scarlet Rhine **for your reviews. Though, I'm gonna have to be pretty awesome to live up to Scarlet's expectations. Hoping I won't let you down!

All right, enough sappiness, let's kick start this bitch.

* * *

The year was 2070. Despite every effort to the contrary, every peace offering and diplomatic endeavor, the worst was about to be realized.

We were about to go to war with the Natural Faction.

People started remembering the dark times fifty years ago; the riots, the biochip disaster, the loss of so many lives. We thought that we were past this. But we were just kidding ourselves- as long as we have these augments, we'll never be at peace with them.

A breaking point; fights break out. Riots. War seems inevitable.

An idea is set forth; a crazy, insane idea.

We ask to leave. The Icarus Initiative becomes a reality.

They tell us not to come back. They probably hope we'll die out there in the black.

But we live. We thrive. We adapt to these harsh new worlds we find ourselves in. We have our freedom, finally, and with it, we flourish.

We find something on Mars. Something amazing. Something that shatters all of our preconceived notions of the worlds we live on.

We are not alone.

We find the Mass Relay on Charon. In Charon, as it were. We meet others like us- a people forced from their homes, forced to drift, to wander, to adapt.

An agreement is reached, an alliance is formed. The Icarus Foundation draws its first breath.

We grow exponentially with the aid of our new allies. We find others whom fate has dealt a harsh hand. They, too, become part of the Foundation.

But all is not well- there are others in this blackness. Another alliance, another force. And they are uneasy with our growth, our progression.

One seeks to do us harm. They send their raiders and their slavers, and they devour our worlds, one by one.

We seek aid. We receive none.

The Skyllian Blitz happens. Thousands die. Some our own. Most of them theirs.

A realization: we are alone. We will receive no aid from the Citadel, safe as they are in their stronghold. We must take action ourselves.

The caverns of Torfan run with rivers of their blood before we are finished. A warning to any others who wish us harm: we will not tolerate your hatred.

The Verge War begins. And another, colder war begins brewing under the surface.

We both know it- if we are to go to war with one another, it will be disastrous, no matter who "wins." An idea is set forth. An agreement reached.

Daedalus Unit is our last hope for peace. Their Spectre, our soldiers, working together.

We pray it will be enough.

* * *

The batarian's head explodes in a splatter of gore, just before a flare of dark energy lobs the corpse into another of its fellow soldiers. The killer turns smoothly, blades clicking into place along his elbows, just in time for the edge to pass cleanly through another batarian's throat.

Rounds skip off of the killer's barriers. He concentrates, dark energy swallowing him, consuming him. He dashes forward, the energy rendering him incorporeal, untouchable, impossibly fast. He becomes real again just in time for his fist to dislocate another enemy's jaw.

He leaps into the air, impossibly high, and golden energy surrounds him. He descends toward a cluster of soldiers. He shatters the barrier, and a wave of gold launches the enemies across the field. He spots one that seems coherent enough to be dangerous. He pounces. Blades slot into place from his wrists. He rears back—

And the simulation ends suddenly, leaving him lodged up to his wrist in floor.

Isaac Shepard sighs, and, with an audible crunch, extracts his hand from the floor.

_That's probably coming out of my paycheck._ He turns, angry.

"Look, how many times do I have to tell you kids—"

He stops suddenly as he realizes who his guest is.

"Chancellor Urdnot, sir. I—"

The krogan raises a hand. "Shepard. How long have we known each other?"

"Since I joined the Corps, sir."

"And how many times do I have to ask you," he said, walking over with a smile, "to call me Wrex."

Isaac chuckles, and wraps his old mentor in the tightest hug he can manage. Which, all things considered, is pretty tight. He steps back.

"Sorry, sir, it's just hard to think of you as, 'just Wrex' when you're up there with the bigwigs. It kinda suits you."

"Dragoon frames suit me, kid. Politics are too cutthroat for me. Come to think of it, I can't even say how I got roped into this in the first place."

Isaac shrugs. "Someone, somewhere thought it was a good idea, I guess." He walked over to the computer on the wall, entering in the code for his next simulation.

"Plan on joining me, then? I was just doing Torfan, if that's your thing."

"I'm not here for gunplay, Shepard. I'm here on business."

"Oh?" He doesn't turn around.

"The Initiative passed. We're assembling our team now."

Though the krogan can't see it, the young augmented's expression darkens. "I see. Well, here's to hoping you find someone crazy enough to work with—"

"I already have," says Wrex, pulling out a datapad. "You."

Isaac whirls, incredulity etched on every line of his face.

"You… what?"

"Spectre Kryik submitted your name for his first officer. We took it to a vote, and it passed." He handed the datapad over to the augmented. "Congratulations, Commander."

Isaac looked at the datapad for a long time, his expression unreadable. "This Kryik guy… he knows who I am?"

"Obviously."

"He knows my opinions on his little party?"

"We brought it up, yes. He is well aware."

The commander nodded, then handed back the pad. "Then he knows why my answer is, 'hell no.'"

"Shepard—"

"Fifty years. Fifty years we've been doing this- surviving when no one else thought we could, making peace with the quarians _and_ the krogans, fighting the Hegemony and winning when everyone thought we'd be paste on the floor. We've done pretty damn well for ourselves since we were kicked off of our planet… and now we want to give that all up, be just another Citadel lapdog… just 'cause we're scared of a fight?"

"It's not like that—"

"The hell it's not. We've worked too hard for too long to be another Citadel stooge." He turned back to the computer. "Find some other dumbass to do it- I don't want any part of it."

"Shepard." Shepard stopped. He had gotten that tone- that tone that said he was gonna do something that neither of them were going to like at all. Wrex took a breath before continuing.

"Shepard, I'm not asking. I'm ordering. You are going to be on the Normandy, you are going to be Nihlus' first officer, and I'm not going to hear any complaints about it."

Shepard turned, glaring daggers at his former mentor. "And if I refuse?"

"You'll be court-martialed." Wrex shrugged. "I've been at this game longer than you've been alive, kid. I may not like politics, but I'm pretty damn good at 'em."

"I'll say."

Wrex sighed. "Look. I know you're not happy about this. About any of it, really. But we need this. We can't afford another war on top of the Verge, and this is the only way to avoid going to war with the Citadel. We need you to do this."

Shepard said nothing.

"You know, Nihlus said something that caught my attention. He said he trusted you to make the right decisions, despite what you think of him or anyone else of his kind. He read your record- about Mindoir—"

Shepard flinched.

"…About Elysium. He knows you'll do what's right. At least, he hopes you will." The krogan leaned in close. "You don't want to let him down, do you?"

Shepard sighed, taking the datapad.

"You have about a month before the Normandy is functional. Pick your team." The krogan turned to leave. A bitter laugh from behind stopped him.

"Wow, sir. You're right- you really know how to play this politics game." He looked up with a pointed glare, a bitter smile. "Anderson would be proud."

Now _that_ stung. Wrex shook his head; biting back whatever comeback he had brewing. He was right, after all. He had let him down before. And now again. He was justified in a little anger. He left, the door closing behind him. Shepard looked at the datapad in his hand, sighing.

_It looks like I have some work to do._


	3. Chapter 2: Embark

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Woo! Chapter 3! Uh, 2!

…SOMETHING, WHATEVER. Damn you, counter-intuitive chapter-labeling system! *shakes fist*

Anyway, I'd like to thank all you loyal readers out there for tolerating my crap once again, and for tolerating my long absence as I fought to vanquish the unholy terror that is real life, and finally, to thank **AlteranHumanJRM** for addressing some of his concerns for the story. Fear not, AH! All of that and more shall be arriving shortly! Eventually! Someday!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled stupidity. Finally.

* * *

"How is he?" asked Anderson as Wrex returned to the Board's chambers. The krogan responded with a weary shake of the head.

"He's still pissed. About a lot things." He gave a pointed look to Anderson. "He said you'd be proud of how I handled it."

Though his face was obscured, one could sense the incredulity from Rael. "Still so much anger, after all this time…" He shook his head. "It's not healthy for him. Are we sure he's up to this?"

"I've never seen Shepard back down from any fight. And fight he will," said Wrex, walking over to the table in the middle of the room, pouring himself a drink. "The question now is, will he ever forgive us?" Another pointed look at Anderson.

"I wish you'd stop that," said the human chancellor, walking over for a drink himself. "You are as much to blame for what happened after Elysium. We did what was necessary—"

"Yeah? I'm starting to think I'm the only one who's sorry about it, though."

There was naught but silence to greet this accusation. Rael's mouthpiece flashed intermittently as he tried to think of something to say. Anderson looked like he'd been slapped. Wrex kept his vigilant glare trained on his fellow chancellor. Finally, Anderson spoke.

"Of course I regret what happened to Shepard. He was a good soldier who got dealt a poor hand—"

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"That's what's coming out of your mouth right now, so I may as well call you on it. _Bullshit. _You didn't do it for him. You did it for you. And then you threw him right back to the dogs. He had no business being at Torfan—"

"We needed troops—"

"-or anywhere near the Verge, for that matter. He's old, Anderson, can't you see that? Barely half your age, not even a fraction of mine, and he's already older than the lot of us. He's done things that I would turn down a payment for, and on whose orders? Ours. We've killed that kid, Anderson. We've turned him into a hard, bitter old man, all so we could have a pretty face to slap onto what we've done." He slammed back the rest of his drink, and moved to leave.

"Some days I think the Council's right to keep us at arm's length." And with that, he was gone.

Anderson stood there, drink still untouched, an incomprehensible look on his face. He turned to Rael.

"Is he right?"

Rael turned, seeming confused. Anderson glared at the drink in his hand, but did not move to drink. His expression was troubled as he looked up at his fellow chancellor. "Did we do wrong by Shepard?"

"We did what we had to, Anderson," said the quarian simply, wearily. "That's all we ever do."

For perhaps the twentieth time since that day, Anderson wondered if the quarian honestly believed what he was saying, or if he had just as much doubts as the rest of them. He shook his head, leaving his drink behind, still untouched, as he left through the opposite door that Wrex had left. Rael, alone, sighed deeply, pulling out his own stash of turian brandy. This looked to be the beginnings of a drinking night.

"So much anger…"

* * *

_By the way, just for the record? No, the irony is not lost on me that the most significant event in my life is the one I remember the least. In a way, I'm grateful for that- the memories I do have of that day have brought nothing but nightmares. I really don't want to know what the whole ensemble would bring._

_They call it the Mindoir Sweep. I've always hated that name. It's too flippant to describe what really happened there._

_The actual attack is a blur. I remember things exploding, being shoved under a pile of rubble. I remember the screams. I remember quiet, and wandering aimlessly through the wreckage of my home, between corpses of both humans and quarians alike, with a few odd batarians mixed in._

_I'm pretty sure no one else made it out alive. I could be wrong, but there are a lot of moments where I hope not. It seems to me that death is probably kinder in that regard._

…_But maybe I'm just overthinking things._

_I spent about two days wandering through the rubble before the Military showed up. I couldn't stand the sight of them, at first. If only they'd been there sooner, I reasoned. I was angry. I hated them, all of them, for not being there._

_I was kind of a dumb kid back then, I guess._

_It took days for me to work up the will/courage/what-the-fuck to speak up, once they loaded me onto the ship. A couple days more for me to be able to sleep. Even now that's only possible through the magical means of drugs._

…_I would apologize for being flippant about this, but honestly? Who else is going to read this? My diary, my rules, so fuck it._

_I spent the next three years on a ship, getting to know the guys who'd "saved" me. Met a nice girl, about my age. Quarian, even. Not much of a fling, since I had a very real chance of killing her for fifteen minutes of… whatever, but it's the thought that counts. _

_Maybe._

…_I'm rambling again._

_The point is, if the Sweep didn't happen, I wouldn't have spent three years getting groomed to enlist in the Military. I might not have figured out that I'm pretty damn good at being a soldier. I might not have met Commander Wrex. I might not have been selected for the ever-so-wonderful honor of becoming a Dragoon pilot._

_Of course, I would also still have my arms, legs, and most of my other organs._

…

…_And people wonder why I think death might've been kinder._

* * *

Shepard took a small sip of the coffee clutched in his hand as he moved toward the pilot's chair. It had been a while since he'd served alongside the famous Joker Moreau, and he felt like catching up. The door to the command deck opened, and, in spite of himself, Shepard couldn't help but be in awe once again. The ISV Normandy, the crown jewel of the Foundation. The skepticism he'd had upon hearing the ship's much-touted capabilities had been dashed once they took the rig out for a shakedown. The SIS system worked perfectly, logic be damned.

He took another sip, sharing a nod with Pressly as he passed the bridge, headed toward the pilot. Moreau's voice echoed across the ship, instructing the rest of the crew to brace themselves for their approach on the Mass Relay. Shepard shook his head as he arrived at the bridge- the day any of them had to worry about Joker Moreau flying this rig any way but smooth would be a day to be worried indeed.

"The board is green… approach run has begun. Hitting the relay in three… two… one."

The ship shuddered slightly as the relay slingshot them into deep space, prompting a small smile from Shepard. For anyone not on the bridge, it would have been hard to tell if they had even hit the relay. Perfect.

"Thrusters… check. Navigation… check. Internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online. Drift… just under 1500 K."

"1500… that's pretty good, Joker."

There was a pause as the self-proclaimed best pilot in the Foundation rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You really are an ass sometimes, Lieutenant."

"It's Commander, actually." Shepard smirked. "So what do you think? About all this, I mean?"

"You talking about the ship or the guys on board?" Joker shook his head. "'Cause the ship I can live with. The ship is beautiful. The guy we're picking up for a ride… not so much."

"My thoughts exactly, but there's not a lot we can do about it now. Diplomacy and all that nonsense."

"What exactly have you heard about him? This Nihlus guy?"

"Just what's common knowledge. Decorated Spectre, not a lot of respect for the chain of command. Just another typical Citadel lapdog."

"Just like us?"

There was a dangerous pause before Shepard answered. "…Yeah. Just like us." He stood, polishing off his coffee as he turned to leave. "Maintain course, and tell me when we're approaching the Citadel."

"Aye, Commander."

Shepard shook his head as he left, his teeth still set on edge from the reality of the situation. Still, if he was going to be another Citadel stooge, he certainly wasn't going to make it easy on them. Agreement or not, this was a Foundation vessel, with Foundation crew. _Shepard_ hand-picked this crew, not Nihlus. These people served under him, not Kryik. He had grown up with these men and women. Fought wars, toppled worlds, killed hundreds of thousands to keep their homes and their futures safe.

And no one- Spectre or not- was going to change that. The Normandy was theirs. It belonged to the Foundation first, and he was going to keep it that way.

Shepard sighed, and headed toward the thrice-damned elevator, going to ask Tali if she might be able to do something about it.


End file.
